Letters to My Future Bride

“Is it a touch of frost lies in the air? Why are we haunted with a sense of loss? We do not wish the pain back, or the heat; And yet, and yet, these days are incomplete.”

Dear Darling,

Something’s wrong.

Don’t worry, I don’t know what it is, and if I don’t know then it can’t be all that bad, can it?

I’ve been doing fine, still lighting fires here and putting them out there, but tonight, instead of studying or working I want to sigh and cry and escape.

There’s too many people around, I can hear them out the window, the same window through which the night wind enters to ruffle the shades. But they’re all in their own worlds. They deaden their senses with liquor and tobacco and television, huddling in their houses, slumped on their couch with the shades drawn and the lights off. I can see the glow of their TVs through nearly every window. Nights like this were meant for more! Can’t they see that?

So I put aside my books for the evening and hunt for the scenes and songs and words that make me cry. I want to leave the whole world behind and, if I have to be lonely, at least do it alone.

I blame that infernal autumn night wind again. There’s something about it that wants filling, without revealing what. This is how some people get fat…they want filling, and food is all they know to consume, a self-destructive quest to be filled.

Blasted wind, it wakens and stirs, it’s wistfully, miserably filling and unfulfilling, fueling a hunger for the unknown. It’s a cruel night that caresses your face and beckons you escape, when there’s nowhere to escape to. It’s the wind of change, there’s no doubt about that. It’s the voice of authority, drawing one chapter to a close and ushering in a new one.

This is where you have to take away my phone or my internet, to keep from getting distracted, or to withhold the temptation driven by loneliness to retrace the vain hopes of connection from the past.

I can barely hear the stars through all this noise and light pollution, but it helps to sit out under them for a while, hunching behind a meager fence line to stave off the glare of porch and street lights.

We’ll go camping under these stars one day, Darling. The same stars that hold our gaze now will be the backdrop for some wonderful memories to come. And when the wild night wind rustles through our windows and stirs our hearts and our wanderlust, we’ll be able to chase it to our favorite spot, some deserted back pasture or creek side, wherever it will be. We can be guiltless and liberated, frisky and frolicsome. I hope you can cling to these future hopes as much as I, and that they bring you as much comfort.

Love me, my dear, because here in this meager room with these meager words, I am loving you.

“Through all the weary, hot midsummer time,My heart has struggled with its awful grief.And I have waited for these autumn days,Thinking the cooling winds would bring relief.For I remembered how I loved them once,When all my life was full of melody.And I have looked and longed for their return,Nor thought but they would seem the same, to me.

The fiery summer burned itself away,And from the hills, the golden autumn timeLooks down and smiles. The fields are tinged with brown —The birds are talking of another clime.The forest trees are dyed in gorgeous hues,And weary ones have sought an earthy tomb.But still the pain tugs fiercely at my heart —And still my life is wrapped in awful gloom.

The winds I thought would cool my fevered brow,Are bleak, and dreary; and they bear no balm.The sounds I thought would soothe my throbbing brain,Are grating discords; and they can not calmThis inward tempest. Still it rages on.My soul is tost upon a troubled sea,I find no pleasure in the olden joys —The autumn is not as it used to be.”

Man always wishes to fling off the chains of rule and routine which he finds cumbersome. He never finds it fulfilling.

In the beginning, breaking the bonds of circadian rhythm seemed empowering, to work by night and sleep by day. People shake their heads or comment on how much I’ve worked. But it’s taking a bit of a toll. Here I am again, sleepless at four in the morning, recovering from yet another bout of a cold, unable to sleep, but pondering if I have anything good to say to you, other than more confiding of my innermost thoughts, insecurities and questions. It seems I’ve done a lot of that the last couple of years, and the last thing I want is to leave nothing more than a trail of tears to revisit in our bliss — although perhaps the memory of tears will solidify the lens of happiness through which we peer.

Loneliness makes a poor and distorted looking glass of its own, especially when looking into something as unknown as the future. But I smile to think you’ll be included in it. I’m sure I’ll have some nights I can’t sleep where the screen’s glow and quiet keystrokes will roust you out — if I was so inconsiderate as to remain in bed while you slept.

The sheets are freshly washed, and the room is fairly clean. The laundry is done, the groceries bought, the dishes washed, the kitchen tidied. The air outside smells fresh, and of course it’s finally getting cooler again. I ought to find ways to be happy in all this, but it can be hard. There’s a constant undergirding of stress these days, pressures of school and work. And then when I crawl into this big clean bed and think about what it would be like to have you lying next to me to talk to, to fall asleep with, someone with whom to awaken and face the day together…everything will change once we’re married. There isn’t a single cloud on the horizon that isn’t brightened just a little for having someone with whom to face them.

There’s just something about autumn air. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s nothing like it. It lures and soothes, but it stirs up too. There’s something fleeting and missing about it…something unfinished. Maybe that’s what it is: desire. There’s desire on the wind, and that’s why it leaves you both empty and full.

It’d be nice to have someone that I actually need, and want. I sure want to feel something. I want to feel, and fall and cry. I want to be brokenhearted and elated and passionate. Oftentimes, I’m just too doggone even-keeled and mature, too unflappable. One true observation the Lady Kirche made about me was that I’m comfortable with the epic and uncomfortable with the mundane. I suppose that’s true.

I want to find someone I can be sure about, someone to pursue with reckless abandon, with certainty they’re absolutely what I want. Truthfully, even someone who is worth the pursuit, but unconvinced that I’m worthwhile. Or, as I told a friend earlier, there aren’t many people who have saved up for a tall drink of water with a cache of love letters who gave up a law scholarship and a lucrative job in PR to scoop poop and be an RN. But oh Darling, if I really knew someone was meant for me, if I really felt I couldn’t live without them and I set my sights on them, what a pursuit I could contrive.

I’ve learned that there is nothing quite as potent as someone who understands you and makes you feel good about who you are. I’ve also learned that finding someone like that — especially when you’re complex hard to understand or perhaps even like — is pretty difficult. And here’s the kicker; I’ve learned I’m less that guy that makes a woman feel okay the way she is. Mind, it’s often because I’m not okay with things she’s done or grown to accept, but still, it’s something I need to work on.

I really wish I could find a place all my own and away from people where I can be raw and open before heaven. There’s something about civilization that closes me off.

Tonight the cicadas are humming alongside the crickets. It’s overcast and drizzling (yay!) and as I look down at the creek, I notice a number of fireflies have gathered on the moss and plants, giving the illusion that the water is sparkling.

After cleaning up the house yesterday (in fairness to me, anything contributing to disorder was 98 percent not my fault) then worked last night, and slept this morning. The family was sick (something resembling what I contracted a few weeks ago) and I staged a pizza rescue, cleaned up the kitchen and washed all the dishes. I was rewarded with dinner, a movie and canine affection, so I broke even. But, other than a few worries here and there, my mind simply isn’t engaged in the big stuff tonight. Either it’s shallow and numb, or just full and settled.

That wasn’t the case the other night. The other night I was slightly stir crazy. I occasionally have those nights, where it feels like something inside me is trapped, wanting to escape. Like that claustrophobic feeling that you have to stretch and have no room. In this particular occasion, I was just off from Monday night Bible study. A friend had come alongside and casually mentioned he and his new bride were already expecting. I was already ill-disposed towards this friend, who rejected my request that he serve as accountability partner when I was seeing the Lady Kirche. I congratulated him and then laughed at the fact that I had worked with his wife in the hospital some days after their honeymoon, and already strongly suspected the pregnancy before either of them did based on her symptoms.

Two acquaintances are pregnant and ready to give birth, and another acquaintance is posting photos and announcements of her newborn.

Something strange must have been going on roughly nine months past.

Oh of course, I should be happy for these couples! They have been blessed by God and should be celebrated. And were I more like Christ, I would gladly celebrate the milestones finally coming to fruition in his life. But instead, leaving Bible study, I avoided my friend (and further invitations to “catch up”) and quickly took to the highway. I bade the night wind to roar through the open windows and pounded a therapeutic dose of Evanescence out of the speakers on the drive home.

Quite a contrast to tonight. Tonight, the mind is subdued and doesn’t want to wrestle with the big topics.

And that’s fine. I need to stop being so self-absorbed anyway. As I walked the bridge, I made note to the Lord that I would not object in the slightest if this drizzle became a downpour, then ran down a short list of friends for whom to pray.

I need to get back on track with life. I need to remind you not just of my trials, but of the good that’s in store.

Little things add up. And even the little things, the small frustrations, are things I want to share with you. But of course, I don’t have you nigh, so I etch them here, petty though they be. We shall begin with the understanding that these are all “first-world problems.”

Some weeks ago, the antenna on my truck was broken, diminishing the ability to listen to music. Yesterday, the device I use to listen to portable music broke. Then a piece of work equipment I’ve had for four years broke. It’s silly little things, but they all hit at once, especially when it targets the ability to listen to music.

Then I had to tell the Lady Kirche I don’t see us being happy together and should part ways. I am still dealing with the mental fallout, confusion and doubt on that matter.

For the first time, my roommate and friend was unseemly and ugly in a remark to me, at the very point at which any soul should show mercy.

My brother was taken to the hospital tonight after sustaining a fall.

My aunt — who like everyone else among my extended relatives has seldom given any thought to me or my family — is in serious legal trouble, and reaching out to my parents for support. In defiance of what should be my Christian charity towards someone who has shown nothing familial or kind towards me or my family, I can summon only the response of offering her a quarter so she may call someone who cares.

I once attended a few dates with a young lady, who I could soon tell was not the woman God planned for me. I fretted to inform her of this, because there was nothing wrong with her, but I did, and we maintained fairly distant and infrequent but amicable communication. She, of course, went on to find someone and marry. She anonymously answered a question I asked of her, which in some ways made me feel badly for her, and more than that, to be frustrated against this absurd notion that I have that the world should have a balance and a score, and infractions against this score are unjust.

Having been in the position where no one helped me while I was sick, I determined that i should at least make sure I was not the cause of anyone else being in such a position. So when I saw an acquaintance was ailing, I messaged her to see if she needed anything. Her response was that I was sweet and thoughtful, but she had it taken care of. She seems to think I’m flirting!

The weather was glorious today, and it made me miss my levels of activity I have enjoyed in the past. A persistent hip pain has prevented me from running like I have. In the last couple of years, I have cumulatively run 133 miles. And now I can’t. And I miss it.

It was more than enough.

I went to the bridge again. It’s colder and the moon higher. The opossum is gone, but a flock of geese can be heard, and I’m fairly certain I see the faint glimmer of moonlight off a bat’s wing. I need to come back out with my camera. If I salvage anything from the photos, I will let you see them.

It’s never who you think it will be, you know. The people who comfort you. You can ask for a special person, a special touch, something thoughtful or uplifting, but you don’t normally get it. But today, I resolved to pursue some long-overdue gunpowder therapy, even alone. But unexpectedly, a friend messaged me and invited me to be his guest, for free. Unbeliever though he is, he was there for me when most others haven’t been.

Expect more letters, my dear, for everything is aligned to see my brain working even more than its usual overtime.

I’ll bet I’ve run across this bridge dozens of times back when I jogged these back roads. Now it’s a substitute haven for me, Beren’s temporary refuge. There isn’t much water, just enough for a gentle gurgle now and again. The country crickets chirp steadily. In the far distance, dogs bark, a donkey brays and an old hoot owl echoes.

I wonder if owls are as wise as they say. Heaven knows I need wisdom right now.

It’s the coldest it’s been in months. The moon hangs just above the rim of the horizon, dipping beneath it even as I write. Stars are bright, reflected even in the creek, and the sky is clear enough to see the arm of the galaxy spiraling across the sky. The trees are silhouetted against the night sky, and late fog is slowly spreading across the pasture. There used to be a barn over there, but it burnt down last year.

A meteor streaks overhead. I used to think them the harbingers of answered prayer. I spent so many nights walking the lane staring skyward and praying. It’s funny how many more of them you see when you’re looking up.

I’m sure I’m breaking the spell by typing this on my phone with increasingly chilled fingers, but I have to describe the scene as I’m here.

It’s breathtaking. I want to bring you here, because somehow, I’m more myself out here.

I thought I’d found you. But closer inspection unmasked the things that I don’t think you would think or say or do. I had to tell her that tonight. It hurts, but I’ll survive. Right or wrong are never as clear as we need them to be here…the Lord’s guidance isn’t nearly as loud as I need.

So I went home and drowned my sorrow in a bowl of chili and homemade cookies. My family offered their sympathy and listening ear, but it’s hard to explain everything from my vantage point, to where they could truly see and understand, to tell me if I was right or wrong.

The concept of age strikes me tonight. Circumstances often bind me to spending time with people who are at least five years my senior, whose careers and lives are stabilizing, who have disposable income and can spend the waking hours planning how to spend it. It daunts a younger man, old at heart but low in life, whose hours are long and studies hard.

We all want to ascend to the heights of our parents, but by then age takes hold. By the time we grow old enough to appreciate the wisdom of not hastening age, but cherish youth (the age when you wish you were old), we realize too late our haste was unwise. We realize life is ad-libbed and adulthood is frightening, and you don’t always know what to do, or if what you choose is right. The world changes, life waxes and wanes. Pets die, stores close, roads change. The years fly, and suddenly we’re adults. You don’t feel like you are, nor know how it happened, nor even if you like it. Suddenly you have insurance and gas and groceries and bills to pay for. Suddenly you notice that bald spot on your father’s head is growing, and his hair is graying at the temples. Your siblings start driving and working, and your mother has to see doctors and have operations.

The world looks a lot different when you grow up.

I leave late. A short drive away, on my way back to the house, I pull over into the grass and turn the car off by the bridge. It’s not a big one, no more than three car-lengths long, no more than six feet high. I almost killed a cottonmouth here once.

And so, here I am. Basking in starlight and silence, imploring heaven for clarity, and resigning myself that the Lord’s will shall be accomplished even through my mistakes. But I hate being the source of anyone’s pain, and I hate to let anyone down, least of all my Father and King.

A rustling in the leaves draws my attention, but it’s only an opossum. We regard each other disinterestedly before he waddles off, I pocket my light and walk back to the road. The moon is gone now, and I walk up the hill a ways. Wild animals roam these pastures this late, but I have my weapon at my side as usual, and fear no nightly noises. I wouldn’t mind a horseback ride through these fields…or just a meaningful word of encouragement.

Once again, although realizing the Lord’s will is not thwarted even if I do make a mistake, I see that no true answers can be found. Tranquility of the country and its celestial canopy is all I carry back with me as I get back in the truck. But maybe for tonight, that’s all I’ll need.

“My candle burns at both ends.It will not last the night.But oh, my foes, and ah, my friends,It gives a lovely light!” – Edna St. Vincent Millay

Dear Darling,

Autumn is coming again. A steady anthem of cricket-song wafts through the open window, a comforting but steady sort that the city crickets use, not the soothing lullaby of those in the country. All the quiet noises of the city can be heard, trains, planes and automobiles. People talk, doors swing, horns sound, cars drive by. The stars are veiled by the lights of the city. A neighbor yanks his motorcycle to life. I don’t know how I could ever cope with these nuisances without removing myself from civilization, but at heart, I’m a man of the country.

I’ve just finished dinner and the dishes, and I should find some satisfaction that I can maintain my life alone this way. My cooking skills are simple, but so are my needs, and I hope it gives you some comfort that on days when you are sick or tired, I won’t be completely unreliable.

I’ve burnt the candle at more than just two ends of late. Some days, I conclude my studies or even day-long clinicals requiring me to be up before daybreak, only to turn around and work 12 hours overnight. In the last week, I’ve worked about 60 hours, alongside my class and two ten-hour clinical days. I slept the day away, and am now awake and, if not fresh, at least ready to make more of my life than sleep. But the world outside is becoming drowsy, and it’s hard to consider exercising or studying in such conditions.

So I’m haunting this empty townhouse tonight. As my evening lengthens, the world begins to feel small, and the brisk air is inviting me to go elsewhere. I sit in the dark for a while, petting the dog and thinking. I sing soft ballads, sit outside on the bench and pray, make a quick trip over to the drive-in for a cheap milkshake. Nothing really does the trick, and I question how it is that there is hunger without satisfaction.

And so, I sit and sort and write.

I need to find some place outside of the city, Beren’s Corner, some place hushed and full of awe, quiet and inspiring. I used to work for a farmer who had creekside acreage away from the house. I would like a natural refuge like that, though I’m sure he never used it as such.

Failure is a fine instructor, and as such many students have turned to me to share that instruction. It is galling to consider that the changes in rules for this period would, if implemented last period, have seen me advancing with everyone else rather than repeating. But there is a reason for it, surely.

In any event, tonight I find myself lacking desire to review my notes. The flames have burned down and desire only to smolder and rekindle. So over dinner, rather than a textbook or a laptop, I take in hand a volume recommended me by my sister. At 782 pages, it isn’t the longest novel I have read, but it’s made me work harder and for less benefit than, say, Les Miserables. Upon the death of a main character’s wife, I lost my patience for the work and skipped to its end — a decision I don’t regret, knowing now that it would have been very unrewarding to reach after so much effort.

Doubt is a funny thing. We all have to abide its creeping into our hearts at different times, and maybe at all times. When it comes to what is right or wrong, even if I fail always to follow, I find very little ambiguity. But not to know, to be uncertain if a certain course or path is right, that is where things become uncertain. And of late, it seems harder to discern. I recurrently seek the Lord, through sermons, through reading, through Bible study, through prayer, to show me what His will is. If He would but tell me, where to stand, and when and how and with whom. He need not tell me why. Clarity of guidance seems elusive.

“There is something strange at work in this land. I distrust the silence. I distrust even the pale Moon. The stars are faint; and I am weary as I have seldom been before, weary as no Ranger should be with a clear trail to follow. There is some will that lends speed to our foes and sets an unseen barrier before us: a weariness that is in the heart more than in the limb.”

It’s hard to find God in the church anymore. I’m thinking of visiting a monastary once or twice, just to listen, to see if I can hear God better away from the distractions of the world. They are a cloud that rises as thick as sin to obscure His voice, and I want to get away from them, and away from the rock concerts and performance of modern “worship.” Truthfully, I want ancientry. I want stone floors, wood pews, candlelight and stained glass windows. I want Gregorian chants, something simple, something reminiscent of meaning, that takes me back to the times before we decided church was a profession rather than a calling, an enterprise we had to pitch to the public with aggressive marketing, flashy graphics and advertising ploys.

It is a fallacy to seek fulfillment from the world, but God created us to need each other, and it’s interesting to observe the different trends in human nature on this. My roommate dines out or has social engagements with friends constantly, and can conjure a dozen friends to perform free labor for him! I cannot even prevail upon friends to see a movie with me. Just three weeks ago, I was sick, and no one was there for me except my family. It seems at times as if I am exuding ever-increasing efforts for ever-diminishing returns.

All I’ve ever wanted is for the loneliness to end — but end in the right way. To find a place where I belong, where I am at last comfortable and at peace, abiding in the Lord’s will and able to make a difference.

There’s a song on the radio that — bubblegum pop notwithstanding — appeals to my heart. “Don’t wanna break your heart, but give your heart a break,” the artist implores. “I know you’re scared it’s wrong; that you might make a mistake. There’s just one life to live and there’s no time to waste, so let me give your heart a break.” The artist can see him hurting, and longs to make it better for him. “Cause you’ve been hurt before, I can see it in your eyes. You’re tired of smiling away something you can’t disguise. Don’t want to break your heart, but ease the ache.” It’s a silly, chirping little tune, but just to hear someone say it strums, perhaps in an unwelcome way, a chord in my heart.

I just need someone in my corner; someone who will cut me slack, give me benefit of the doubt, and appreciate the things I do. Some who, frankly, won’t mind rescuing me from time to time. Someone who can stand by me in public, even if she takes me aside in private, gently, to ask if I shouldn’t reconsider this or that. Someone who can inspire and uplift. Is it wrong to want that? Or am I just so prone to instant analysis and overthinking that I will never allow myself to be inspired or uplifted? Maybe I should “loosen up.” The world doesn’t care if you are good. It will still dump its troubles on you, regardless. Maybe life and its expectations shouldn’t be all I make them out to be. I suppose in the end, I just want to make sure I actually made a difference in life. And you can’t make a difference unless you’re different. “You are wise beyond your years,” a friend sighed when I offered my counsel to her regarding her situation. Perhaps, but I don’t feel wise, and I’m frankly tired of being an old soul.

Do I seem lost to you in all these musings? Do you think me weak, flailing? I suppose sometimes I am. Maybe I’m not as different as I’d like to think. But here, these letters, the things I will share with you, that is part of their treasure, the weakness and vulnerability, the things no one else knows. I can’t tell you them now, so I write them here for you to find one day.

Good evening. I wish I had more golden, heartfelt words of hope and promise to glide into your mind, or heaving thoughts of sadness wrung from a lonely soul, but I don’t. Tonight, I’m just me. I’m tired, having worked another long weekend, and at this point nearly ringing in at 36 hours awake, with 15 of them worked. I’ve confronted death again.

I just wanted to see you, and sigh, to say I love you and goodnight. I’ve said that before, haven’t I…just a desire to see you for one night, a glimpse through a fold of time. I think that would be cheating, since you and I have to do this the hard way. But I can wish. I can close my eyes and imagine the total surrender and relaxation of holding you in my arms. Although, I’m beginning to realize, even if you get past the walls, as well you must, the walls will still be there. Sometimes that still means the totality and purity of feeling is diminished, by virtue of inability to relax, a stress of wondering about decisions made or that need making. Vigilance is a good thing, but I begin to wonder if my guardedness has set me up for less initial bliss than I had imagined. Sometimes I even question if I truly know how to love…a disconnect between the love I know I feel, and actually releasing it to you. Perhaps I’m the heart afraid to love, fearing it’s the wrong choice. I know I need to be more loving, encouraging and uplifting, less critical, less prone to seeing the bad. Maybe I need to be okay with being loving towards people other than you. I always felt like I was holding back on almost everything until I knew it was you…but I think that’s not how it works. I think you have to grow together through those expressions of love, even the physical. (Within the bonds of purity of course.) Sometimes I think if I could just show a woman these letters, she would melt and change into the Luthien I seek. What an absurd idea.

School is back, and I’ve breezed through these first hurdles easily enough. Failure is a harsh but efficient instructor, or so you’d think from the way my classmates clamor to allay their fears by understanding why I’m back. I’m having to contend with seeing so many classmates from the last period who have moved on, especially knowing the policy changes in place this time would have meant my passage had they been in place last time.

I’ve reasonably concluded I haven’t found you yet, which is disappointing. Relationships…well, I always felt you would help make me more myself, and it often feels like I am less myself…or, less the person I liked. As I alluded to before, it’s hard to know the difference between the discomfort of stretching and growing, and becoming something you’re not. More on that later.

It seems strange to me that every person I look at who embodies traits, gifts or talents I lack makes me feel inferior. I don’t know why that is. A chronic comparer, I suppose. This person has a great memory. That person has a more complex understanding of medicine. That person plays piano ingeniously. It always makes me reflect on what I feel are my own inadequacies and shortcomings.

The noose just seems to be tightening these days. There are little annoyances and harassments, struggles that are unnecessary but which conspire to slow the journey and make it unpleasant. We all go through valleys, my dear. Perhaps the uncertainty is what makes it more difficult. I could face any valley with a destination to aim for, and a faithful woman by my side. The destination sometimes seems further away, and of course, finding you not with me, and beset by questions and uncertainties, the traveler is wearied more quickly than he ought.

But what else can your Beren do but to pursue the path on which he set out, praying to God for guidance along the way?

I have never stopped praying for you, my dear, and while flame still burns in my soul, I never will. I’m sorry I haven’t found you yet, but wish me Godspeed, as I do you, and we will find each other.

About

Welcome. You’ve stumbled upon the secretest of treasure troves; love letters to a woman I’ve never met. Luthien, the love of my life, my future bride. Until time and time’s Author release her to me, I am hiding the poems, laments and love-sick lullabies tucked away here, in a quiet corner until we meet; private words spoken publicly. You are invited to tread among these sacred thoughts, and may by some grace be encouraged in your wait, and to remember your own love, your own value and the precious rewards of waiting.

Your comments, likes and shares are welcome. If you have questions, a letter may find its way to my door if addressed to LetterstoLuthien, by way of the courier known as Yahoo.